Never An Easy Way
by gf7
Summary: Trip is mildy injured returning from an Away Team mission and T'Pol overreacts. Set S3.


Title: Never An Easy Way

Author: Shawn Carter

E-Mail:

Notes: Takes place after Harbinger but before Azati Prime.

Summary: Trip returns from an Away Team mission minimally injured and T'Pol overreacts.

Rating: PG.

Music: Sing title is Morcheeba.

* * *

She stepped up in front of him, eyes blazing with white-hot anger. An idle thought wandered through his mind, daring to hope that maybe she was about to kiss him silly as opposed to rip his head off. He quickly swatted it down, not wanting to give it air to breath. Not wanting to think like a schoolboy lost in a fit of hormones. He was the third in command of a starship and that demanded professionalism and control.

"Irresponsible," she spat, pacing around in anxious circles. Her moods had been strange, even mercurial for weeks now. It was becoming increasingly difficult to guess just what kind of disposition he was going to find the former sub-commander in.

"T'Pol," he said softly, putting out a hand. He caught himself quickly. This wasn't one of those moments. She had a right to be angry.

Kinda. Sorta. Okay not really.

To be honest he didn't really understand what she was so upset about. It wasn't like he had done anything that was all that bizarre or odd. Especially for him.

He's just gone back into the line of fire when he'd been ordered out by his Captain. He's refused a director order for extraction when he'd seen a fellow officer in danger.

He'd gone back for a security officer who had been badly injured by the debris from a mine. As he'd been yanking the man to safety another had gone off, spraying him with shrapnel that had cut into him like shards of very sharp glass.

Very fine sharp glass with pointy little edges to be fair about it.

And now she was spitting fire because of it. Apparently enraged by his disobedience even if she hadn't been the one giving the command. It was a strange thing really because the Captain himself hadn't seemed all that upset, a tad annoyed but completely understanding of exactly what he had done and why.

But T'Pol was something different. Another story altogether.

He clenched his jaw and steeled himself, preparing for the brutal assault of her anger. She didn't usually turn such emotion on him but he could tell that right now she was in one of her stranger moods. The kind where it was easy to forget that she was supposed to be a stoic and in control Vulcan officer.

The kind that created regrets in the morning.

At least for her apparently.

He was fairly clear about where he stood on the whole thing but he could tell that she wanted nothing to do with it and he wasn't the type to humiliate himself with that kind of thing.

Jump out of a tree butt-ass naked? Sure. Wear a dress with heels to the high school graduation? Check. Streak the girls in the single sex prep school? Absolutely.

Put himself emotionally on the line for a Vulcan who seemed to consider their tryst an unfortunate one-night stand? Hell no. Hell freaking no.

"I won't say I'm sorry," Charles "Trip" Tucker said, lifting his chin in defiance. He tapped his fingers against the fabric of his jumpsuit, hissing just slightly in pain as one of the cuts on his arm tore a bit.

"I'm not asking for that," she snapped, still pacing. He bent his head forward; worry creasing his brow. Something was wrong with her. Something was very wrong. She looked like she was stuck in the middle of some kind of emotional bender and that was off in so many ways. "I'm asking for you to understand the ramifications of your actions, Commander. We all have to understand that every action we take has consequences."

"I do understand," he said smoothly, not missing a beat. "I wasn't going to let someone die. He didn't die. I guess I'll live with that consequence."

"It's not that simple," she replied, turning hard on him. He briefly had a mental image of an ice skater during on a dime with the way she cut the ground in her spinning motion. One of the tendrils of her hair stuck up in the air, as if supported by static electricity. If he'd been in a joking mood he might have suggested that her hair was giving her horns like a joker would someone taking a picture. But then again, she probably wouldn't understand what the hell he was talking about so maybe not.

"It is," he answered back with just as much attitude as was being shot at him. Way back in his high school days when he'd been playing baseball he'd always been told that you hit the ball with as much force as it was thrown. Whether right or wrong when it came to swinging a bat, it was a philosophy he lived with in his everyday life. For the most part it had served him well. "It really is that simple. I was doing my job."

"Your job and your responsibilities dictate that you understand what you are to this crew. You are the chief Engineer and our mission dictates that some sacrifices might have to be made to complete it." T'Pol interjected. "This was an unacceptable risk."

Trip felt a warm flush slide over his cheeks and his throat caught as fury circled his gut. "Are you insane?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's never an unacceptable risk to save a life. I won't leave someone behind. I won't do it. That's not how I'm built." He paused and then continued, just as animated. "And I don't give a damn about what our mission dictates and what sacrifices are deemed okay or otherwise. "

She slid her hands up over her eyes, almost as if to suggest that even she realized that she was off. Finally she straightened herself and continued staring at him. "There were others around. There were MACOs around who could have assisted. The Captain ordered you out."

"He did," Trip acknowledged. "And perhaps you didn't hear me. I don't care. I wasn't leaving him behind. I was there at the time. It was my responsibility. Now we can argue you this all day or you can tell me what the hell this is really all about. Your choice."

"Fine," she said curtly. It was fairly clear that she had no intent of responding to the second part of his statement. That of course would mean acknowledging that she had been worried about him and in a way that was certainly more than just the concern a senior officer feels for his or her subordinate. After all, T'Pol had apparently decided to adopt the male persona in whatever weird dance they were doing. She was the one in denial while he was the one fully willing to go with it if he thought there was a chance that she'd reciprocate.

But there wasn't.

Not yet at least.

"Fine," he replied with a nod. "Then we're done here?" Anxiously he rubbed at one of the cuts on the arm. He glanced down at it and saw that the shard of debris had spliced clean through the arm of his jumpsuit, exposing skin and blood. He'd have to get that cleaned up sooner or later.

"Just about," she answered. "I'd like to go over what happened down there. You were sent down to the planet to recover vegetation to see if it could be converted. Our long-range scans showed no signs of humanoid life."

"That's because there wasn't any," he replied, still defiant. Then he sighed, not really wanting to continue the emotional stalemate. He made a mental note to speak to the Captain about her, see if maybe she needed a few hours to herself for meditation. This mission was wearing on all of them, exposing entirely too many raw nerves. Apparently even Vulcans weren't immune. "Seems the former colonists left the ground around the gardens mined to keep people away. Now we know why there was so much fresh vegetation there."

She cocked her head to the side in a way that seemed uniquely her. "Commander?"

"We weren't the first group to pass by this planet and send down a team," Trip said softly. "We might however be the only ones to have made it out alive."

"There were bodies down there?"

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Various states of decay."

"Our scans didn't pick the mines up," she murmured, more to herself than him. "They should have."

"Right," he acknowledged. "Malcolm is recalibrating. Something in the metal of the mines shielded it from our sensors." He stepped towards her. "Which is not your fault. For whatever reason that they set this trap, they've been successful at it. You can't take the blame."

"I don't," she lied. Then she looked up at him. "It however won't happen again."

He blinked; confused by the myriad of emotions he could see rushing through her. Again he was struck by how unfocused she appeared to be, how not normal. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly for his liking "I was sleeping when the first explosion went off. I'm still trying to gather all of the pertinent facts."

"Okay," he replied, trying to be sympathetic, trying to see where she was coming from. When he had returned to the ship from the shuttle bay she had ordered him into the Captain's office, her intentions obvious.

Now that anger seemed gone and she just appeared to be confused and disorientated. That frankly scared the hell out of him. He'd known her for going on three years and this behavior was utterly unlike her.

But then again none of them were quite like they had once been.

This voyage in the Expanse hadn't been easy for anyone. Actually that was something of an understatement. He constantly wondered who they would be if they made it out alive. Could they live with the choices they'd made? Could they rationalize the sacrifices? Could they explain away the horrible decisions if they woke up screaming in the middle of the night? Could they find a way to learn to live with all they'd done in the name of saving humanity?

"I have..."

She trailed off, not finishing the sentence. She touched a hand to her forehead. He stepped closer to her, relieved to see that the storm had apparently passed.

"You don't look well."

"It's just a headache," she replied stiffly. "I should return to my quarters." She looked up at and then almost as if her body betrayed her mind, her hand ripped forward and gently caressed the side of his cheek, fingers brushing over his jawbone. "You're injured."

"Fine," he replied, searching for her eyes. She refused the contact however, turning her head just slightly. "I'm fine. Just a scratch." He lifted his hand to touch hers but she pulled it away before he could.

"You should get it checked out," she mumbled lamely. "Dr. Phlox likes to know about every injury." She looked him over and saw that the cut on his face was only one of many. "Every injury."

"Just shrapnel," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Doesn't even itch."

"Commander," she replied, looking up at him. He could see that the agitation was returning.

He gave in. "Okay, I'll let Phlox clean it out. But only if you get some sleep."

"I have reports to do," she said evasively. "Rotations are coming up."

"And they'll still be coming up in six hours," Trip replied. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and waited.

Waited for her to stiffen in reaction, fitfully uncomfortable with the contact that she didn't quite understand. In some way T'Pol was a small child when it came to understanding herself, especially whatever was going on inside of her.

And still he waited.

Waited for the tension to release as she realized that she actually enjoyed his touch, guilty pleasure though it be. Being around humans had altered her, brought her closer to a point of true self-realization than she had ever wanted to be.

"Come on," Trip teased, the anticipation killing him. Eventually, just as he knew she would, he felt her shoulders sag into his big hands and he squeezed. "Don't make me go to the Captain and have him order you to bed."

Her head snapped up and immediately he realized that he'd kicked the wrong tire. So to speak of course. She looked positively panicked, almost like a small child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jaw. He bit down on the curiosity that coursed through him. He knew better than to think that she was just going to let him in. "This isn't something the Captain needs to be bothered with," she said, her tone very firm.

"Okay," he answered lightly, trying to ease the mood." Then don't give me a reason." Then he grinned. "And yes, this is blackmail."

If the Vulcan could have snorted in derision she would have. The look however said it all and he almost laughed, but instead just barely caught himself. It was a hysterical thing though, the idea of the former Sub-Commander being blackmailed into a few hours of shut-eye.

"Normal sleep rotation. I am simply turning in for the evening," T'Pol corrected him. "You should get to Sickbay."

He briefly considered teasing her further, asking her if she planned to check up on him. Reluctantly he let that pass and instead settled for a nod, "Aye, aye."

Trip looked at her one more time and lowered his head, marginally disappointed that he was walking away from her. He stepped towards the door. He had gotten maybe three feet when her voice called him back. "Commander." It was a statement, not a question. Like turn around and do it now because I'm telling you to do it. Typical T'Pol.

So he of course, never one to say no to a lady, did exactly what her tone demanded. He turned towards her. "Hm?"

"I apologize for bringing you in here. It was ill-advised and I was uninformed of the situation," T'Pol said, her voice very even and controlled. "I should have gathered the details first and allowed you to get medical attention before I corroborated them with you."

He nodded slowly. "You were concerned," he corrected, not sure what he was trying to get from her but knowing that he wanted something substantial, something to make him feel like he wasn't an ass for having the feelings and thoughts that he did. He wondered idly when he and T'Pol had switched poles on the male/female equator.

"I was mistaken," she said feebly, knowing what he was getting at. She joined her hands in front of her, looking suddenly very awkward. She clearly didn't want to be having this conversation.

Tough. She had called him back.

"Okay," he replied. "Mistaken. Mistaken enough where you damn near ripped my head off for not letting someone die." He nodded slowly. Like he was pretending to get it. Like he was giving her time to come up with something better. "Of course. That makes complete sense."

"I apologized."

"I know," he confirmed. "But that doesn't change the fact that you overreacted. And it doesn't tell me why."

"It won't happen again," she said thickly. She stepped back and away from him. She wanted this talk over.

Now.

Right the hell now.

He sighed, his shoulders dropping a bit. "We're not done with this," he told her. "There's more to say here."

"You should get to Sickbay," she instructed him. "Immediately."

"And have the Doctor check me for head damage?" he asked with an easy laugh, understanding exactly what she was getting at and deciding to have a little fun with it. He was frustrated for sure but realized that it wasn't going to get him anywhere so he might as well play with the situation as much as he could.

For a few moments at least.

She envied that laugh. She wished it was as simple for her as it apparently was for him. He seemed not to care too much about the responsibilities and restrictions of rank and leadership.

He seemed to think it would be easy to just give in to the coursing emotions that were so haphazardly raging through her. Then again how could he possibly know? How could he even begin to imagine what it would truly mean for a Vulcan to allow emotions to own her for even a few moments?

It meant regrets. It meant dreams that best belonged to schoolgirls with no responsibilities.

It meant a complete and utter loss of control. And that was both illogical and unacceptable.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair in a decidedly frantic motion. "Yes," she answered. "That's not a bad idea. Go now."

He nodded slowly, bothered more deeply than he cared to admit. She looked like she was coming apart but he didn't quite know what to do or say to stop the puzzle pieces from dropping out of the proverbial frame.

His impulse was to touch her, hold her, make it better.

But they were in the Captains' Ready Room and this was neither the time or place. Nor was she some weak flower that needed the protection of a big bad man. In truth she could probably knock him on his ass if push came to shove.

And she really was pushing.

Away at least. She was pushing away.

And that was almost too much to handle to watch her positioning herself on the edge of the cliff.

Yeah, something was very wrong with her.

But for tonight he'd let her sleep. Get her rest and maybe meditation.

And hope that in the morning she'd be okay again even if that meant several feet more distant. Several feet closer to the cliff.

Because eventually he'd stop waiting for her to put out her hand and ask for help. Eventually he'd just push her until she reacted.

He'd learned a long time ago that it was actually fairly easy for him to get a reaction out of her.

And when it came time he would get a reaction for sure.

"Good night T'Pol," Trip said softly, turning and ducking his head. He slipped out of the door, closing it behind him. It slid shut with a soft metallic clank.

She watched him go, staring at the cool steel of the door for several long seconds. Finally, sighing deeply and with a weight slamming down hard on her shoulders she replied, "Good night Trip."

-FIN


End file.
